


Sweet Tooth

by HappyDagger



Series: Requests [8]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Age Play Little Theon, Am I doing this right?, Control Issues, Daddy Kink, Daddy Ramsay, Discipline, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Loss of Control, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Over the Knee, Possessive Behavior, Ramsay is his own warning, Reluctant Reek, Self-Harm, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-10-13 04:14:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10506141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyDagger/pseuds/HappyDagger
Summary: For the following request:Instead of Ramsay X Reek being a master/pet type relationship, could you make it purely age play? Like, Reek has a daddy kink, Ramsay is daddy, Ramsay uses his deep voice when he's disciplining Reek, Reek gets spanked when he's naughty, and Reek is Theon's name when he's in his little headspace?





	1. Any, Anytime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kittensandpiercings](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Kittensandpiercings).



Theon sighed and chewed at his chapped lip while happy couples walked by, friends shoved one another and laughed, girls giggled and fell into each other, throwing their heads back. A woman was listening patiently to the flamboyant complaints of her son. He was carrying her bags, it looked like. Theon wondered if his mother would have been her age.

His long fingers anxiously tapped along the back of his vibrating rubbery phone case but he wasn’t even going to look this time. He was very busy… doing rr waiting for… uh- what was he doing again?

“Babe!”

“Huh?” He looked down to see Roz frowning up at him and handed back her purse. “Yeah, it looks great. Very pretty.”

“Umm, they didn’t even do anything yet,” she retorted in that voice that sounds like she’s always asking a question.

“What, really? Well, what did I just pay for? What have I been-”

“Oh, my gods! You **never** listen to me! I was _asking_ if you could get me a frappuccino. First, they fucking make me wait even though I HAVE AN APPOINTMENT, and now _you’re_ being an asshole. Look at this! I can’t let anyone see me until they fix it.”

Theon leaned close and lowered his voice. _“Why am I being a fucking asshole?”_

“Ugh! Nevermind. Christ. Just nevermind.” She almost looked like she could cry.

He pulled away and tried again. “Well... you look nice already.”

 _“Ha!_ Ohhh, right! Riiiight. So I just shouldn’t spend _your_ money, huh? I am doing this to look nice for **you**. You don’t even care!”

“Holy shit, Roz.” _Of course, I don’t care about fucking nails!_ “I’ll get your drink. Ok? I’ll be right back.”

Roz pulled her phone and lip gloss from her purse then held it out to him. “Ok,” she sniffed.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Babe! I don’t want it to get stolen! _Look at these people.”_

By which she meant that anyone who isn’t a Northerner must be a fucking thief. “I am not carrying your god damned purse around the fucking mall so I can buy you an eight dollar drink to soothe your precious nerves while you complain through the fifty dollar mani-pedi I bought you and tell me what a fucking _asshole_ I am.”

 

 **DON'T FUCKING RESPOND** **_calling_ **

 

“Oh, who is that?” She jumped to say. “Is that why you want to leave?” Her voice was becoming shrill. The rest of this day wouldn’t get any better. He wouldn’t even get laid tonight, or worse she’d want him to ‘ravage’ her put her ‘in her place’ or some shit while she berated him with everything he was doing wrong. “Why can’t you carry my purse? Is it too heavy, Princess?”

“Jesus Christ.” Theon’s fingernails dug into his skull.

“Or do you not want anyone to know you’re here with your girlfriend.”

Theon dropped her purse like a mic. “I’m not. _I told you,_ I don’t do relationships. Call your one of your friends, tell them what a dick I am and get a pity party ride home, Roz.”

“Oh my god!”

Great, now she’s going to cry. Everyone is going to look at him and think _That tacky nouveau-riche Ironborn trash. He probably hits her._ But Theon hasn’t hurt her yet and doesn’t want to now, so he walked away. His phone buzzed yet again.

 

 **DON'T FUCKING RESPOND** **_calling_ **

 

And again by his car. He just wouldn’t stop. Maybe it was an emergency. Theon rubbed his forehead and locked his car doors, then ignored his own advice yelling at him on the tiny screen. “Hello?”

“Hey.” Ramsay sounded so weak. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah. Of course, I am.” He glanced around swarming parking lot. Roz was texting him already. “Are _you_ ok?”

“I need a favor.”

“Y-you do?”

“Could you bring me my prescription? I just can’t drive like this.”

“Oh. Um… you’re sick?” _No shit, he is. Don’t be a fucking idiot._ “You, uh, sound really sick.”

“It’s at Walgreens in Weeping Waters town square. It should be on your way.” He erupted in a wet, heavy cough, which would be impossible to fake.

“Ok. Yeah. I’ll just- I can drop it off.” Theon chewed his lip and swallowed a sliver of dry skin. “Are you still uptown?”

“I’ll send you the directions. It’s going to st-”

 _“I know,_ ok. Bye.” Theon hung up.

 

**(DFR) It’s going to storm.**

 

“I know,” Theon snapped at the text.

 

**(DFR) Do not speed, Theon.**

 

“I _know!”_ Theon’s stomach warmed and twisted. “I’ll speed if I fucking want to anyway. I’m a great driver.” He probably could have been a racecar driver, really, but that would be boring; just running and running, going nowhere.

 

**(DFR) Don’t look at your phone while you’re driving.**

 

“Well, THAT’S just HYPOCRITICAL! What? Do you go around posting ‘don’t read me’ signs?! ‘Here’s your shit. Don’t call me again.’ That’s I’ll fucking tell him. Fuck!” Theon had to slam on the brakes to avoid blowing through the intersection. _Walk around with a purse in public. I would look RIDICULOUS!_ “It's not even a cute purse!”

Some kid in a truck next to was staring at him.

Theon put on his aviators and flicked the guy off then sped through the green light.

 

“Hi. I’m picking up for Bolton.”

“Ok.” The pharmacist tech adjusted her classes. She had neat tattoos and nice eyebrows. Good for her. “Date of birth?”

 _Oh, right._ “Um…” he took out his phone and the answer was already there.

After typing it in, the lady went and grabbed a paper bag, stapled a paper to it and scanned it.

“Ok, your copay is fifteen even.”

“Um,” Theon patted his pockets. “I left my wallet in my car. I’m sorry, can you hold it?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll be right back!”

 

**(TG) HEY wtf it’s $15? U didn’t pay?**

 

**(DFR) You don’t have 15 dollars? I’ll pay you back, obviously.**

 

Theon groaned.

 

**(DFR) Come get the money then. I’ll give you something for gas.**

“Pft, like I need your fucking money.”

 

 **(TG) no nm nbd**   **BD**

**(TG) anything 4 u buddy**

Theon raced back to Maron’s apartment and dug through every drawer, under the couch, between cushions. “Ew!” Crumbs and hair, so disgusting.

He filled a sagging corner of a zip lock bag with coins and found a Bed, Bath, and Beyond gift card he’d never use.

 

Coinstar is so fucking _loud_. Theon hoped no one would recognize him. At last, all the coins had clanged and clattered through the vibrating machine. He sold his gift card in the machine next to that and returned to the pharmacy counter to triumphantly slam down the money.

“There you go. Any questions for the pharmacist?”

“Um… no. Thanks.” Theon wished he had thought of questions because now there was nothing to do but follow Ramsay’s directions.

 

Where the hell was there to park? He could have texted Ramsay, but … he just couldn’t. It was fine.

He found a space two blocks up and three over.

 

“Can I help you?” An imposing doorman asked not caring to sound overly friendly.

Theon looked down at his own impeccable outfit and up at the man. _Hello?_ “Yeah, Bolton.”

“You’re not Mr. Bolton.” He said dryly.

“No shit.” The man frowned and started to lower himself down to Theon’s level. Theon forced his way up the stoop so the asshole realized he wasn’t _that_ much taller. “I’m here for Ramsay. See?” He held up the paper thin bag and tapped the name on the printout label.

“Oh.” The doorman pulled at his goatee then poked around on a tablet. “Little Theon. Go ahead to the lobby. Myranda will assist you with-”

“He’s _Mr. Bolton_ and I’m _Little Theon?_ I’m MR. Fucking GREYJOY!” He shoved past and stomped in.


	2. Stay This Time

 

Whoever built this place had a real hard on for black marble. It was cold and made the grand entrance feel much smaller. Even rich people have no taste. Theon could probably be a great interior designer. Too bad Ironborn don’t really _do_ things like that.

A tiny lady with a sharp smile and was waiting. She already seemed to be laughing at him but waved Theon to the waiting elevator. She silently swiped a pink card hanging from a silver loop around her wrist through a reader then punched in the floor number.

Could it really be that high up? Theon’s stomach sank. He didn’t remember a lot from either of his last two visits or even much about meeting Ramsay. What the hell was he doing here?

“Is that all you brought?” Myranda slinked around and slid out the door as it closed.

“Uh…” the doors shut with him just standing there like a jackass. _‘Uhhh,’ nice one._

He winced and grabbed the handrail when the elevator jerked and started. Theon looked at the time on his phone. His shift didn’t start for hours, that was good, but he still had to get out quickly. Well, that should be easy enough. _‘Here’s your meds don’t fucking call me again!”_ he would say the moment Ramsay opened the door. Then he’d toss the bag at Ramsay’s face. _I don’t do relationships. I don’t do favors. There’s a million Northern pussys running around to run your errands_ \- hmm. No, wait. _Running and run?_  He can’t sound like an idiot in front of Ramsay. _Crawling around?_ Would that work?

The elevator buzzed.

“Shit!” The doors opened to an apartment while Theon hung onto the handrail. _Oh, right,_ Theon remembered.   _He has a fucking floor._ Theon should have his own fucking floor in a nicer place than this. He probably will one day.

He took a deep breath and stepped out of the elevator. “Hello?”

Silence.

What if this was wrong somehow? It couldn’t be. Maybe Ramsay actually meant to drop the meds off at the lobby. It was Myranda’s fault then! That’s what he’d say and then, _‘Fuck you’_ \- no- _‘Here’s your fucking meds, don’t ever call me again.’_ Right.

The doors closed behind him. Theon sighed. He felt like he was in a magazine. Matthew McConaughey should be holding an expensive perfume the rustic industrial kitchen with some smarmy sentence in a wispy serif font hanging over him. That’s the kind of place Ramsay had.

“Hello?”

Theon crept along through the apartment, which flowed in a wide horseshoe around a somewhat open kitchen. Heavy curtains were drawn all along a wall of windows. It was so big and empty. “Ramsay?”

He was starting to remember and thought, not for the first time, that he needed seriously cut back on his drinking. No more blackouts. No more fucks ups. Suddenly, he found Ramsay laying on a worn soft red leather couch. Theon remembered that it was soft, even though it looked rough and how that had surprised him.

“Here’s your fucking meds… Ramsay?” Theon inched closer.

He was passed out, breathing through his parted lips. Raven hair was stuck to his forehead. His face was an anemic shade of white.

Theon set the bag on a metal coffee table next to the couch. Everything here was worn stained wood, exposed brick, metal, leather, stone; the whole place was more manly than Theon, who’s delicate paisley shirt really set off his eyes but made him feel out of place. He always was.

He rubbed his face and sat on the very edge of the couch by Ramsay’s knees. “Ramsay?”

Ramsay's dark lashes fluttered. He grumbled something.

“No, it’s me, Greyjoy. You asked me… I’ll just get you a drink. I’m not breaking in or anything, ok?”

 

Theon came back with a glass of icewater and a bag of cheddar crackers he’d found.

“Theon,” Ramsay greeted and smiled. He sat up slowly and brushed sweaty hair out of his face. “Thanks,” he croaked.

“You look terrible.” Theon chewed his lip and tore open the bag. “Here, you should take a lot of these.”

Ramsay raised an eyebrow. “They’re antibiotics.”

“Right. Like, _really_ kill it.”

“The pneumonia?”

“Yeah. Take a lot and destroy it before it knows what’s happening.”

Ramsay smirked. His gray eyes only seemed brighter in contrast to the dark circles beneath them. “That’s not how it works.”

“You really don’t look good.”

“Yeah, I guess not from the way you’re staring at me.”

“Sorry.” Theon took a step back. “There’s your drugs-meds. Don’t call-”

“Could you hand me the water?”

Theon had definitely set it out of his reach. Well, so? He didn’t even have to fucking _be_ here! The sky was growing dark. He had to leave soon. Theon handed Ramsay the water.

“You put ice in it. That’s nice of you.”

“I found some crackers.” Theon said too quickly, so he shrugged dismissively. “For you, I mean. I’m not stealing or anything.”

Ramsay pulled his phone out and started tapping and scrolling on it. “I’m not worried about you stealing.”

“You’re not afraid of me?”

A smile crept across Ramsay’s pale face. He started laughing, which quickly turned into heavy coughing, but he couldn’t stop.

That was answer enough. Theon grinned and looked around to find the elevator. “Look, I don’t do favors-”

“I must be special.”

Theon’s mouth hung devoid of retorts until he forced it to close. "Well, I should-"

“What does B. D. mean?”

“What?”

“In your text.” Ramsay showed him the phone. “Nevermind. No big deal. B.D.?”

“No, that’s me!” Theon put his sunglasses on and grinned. “See?”

Ramsay tenderly touched his ribs and chuckled.

Thunder echoed down the freeway. Theon wandered to the window and peeked past a crimson curtain. “I have to go.”

“Here, let me pay you back.” Ramsay’s hand trembled as he held out the bills.

“Oh, god.” Theon came closer but didn’t take the money. “You really don’t look good. Shouldn't I take you to a doctor?”

“I did see a doctor. That’s how I got the prescription.”

“Right. Yeah. What do I do with you though?” Theon bit his lip and tasted blood.

Ramsay was still smiling, but he had to collapse back into his pillows and drop his hand on the couch. “Just keep your phone on you. Here, take a key so you can come up after hours if I’m not here.”

Theon sat on the very edge of the couch again, by Ramsay’s hip now. “Don’t you know any Ironborn?”

“Do you?”

“What?! I AM Ironborn! The fuck? Look at me!”

“I am.”

Theon froze, unsure of what he was feeling. He quickly decided he didn’t want to know. He jumped up and zipped through the apartment. “How do you get out of here? I have to go.”

“A storm is coming.”

“I know! So? I don’t care!” he tried to laugh. “Call the elevator.” There was no buttons or anything, no matter where he looked, just a card reader.

“I said, **_Let me pay you back_.** ”

After a moment, Theon peered out from the kitchen.

_“Come here.”_

Theon folded his arms across his chest and slowly crossed the room, though it felt more like stumbling downhill. 

Ramsay flicked the bills and a pink card out in one hand. "Take this."

Theon bit and sucked on the little tear in his bottom lip. He really could use that money, so much that he ached to have it; to be rid of the stress it would relieve. Still... he's not supposed to accept anything he hasn't _taken_. At least, that's the kind of shit his father would yell, in the few memories Theon had of him. "I appreciate it, but I have plenty of money."

Ramsay raised an eyebrow and sat up straight. "So do I. We clearly don't need each other's charity then. You did me a favor, which you never do for anyone else, apparently. Let me pay you back.  **Theon,** " his voice dropped again, right into Theon's stomach, vibrating in his chest and spine, like he was all made of strings that Ramsay could play. 

Theon hesitated a few moments longer then reached for the money. "Thanks."

Ramsay grabbed his wrist and yanked him down with surprising strength. Theon was caught off guard and fell to his knees. Ramsay caught his face with both hands and kissed him deeply.

Theon remembered the taste, the pressure on his head, inside him, clawing Ramsay's back, begging- "SHIT!" He jumped back and nearly fell over the coffee table but caught his balance in time. "FUCK YOU!"

He wasn't really sure why he said it. It was just like a reflex; it happened and it made Ramsay's face grow darker thsn the sky outside. He yanked Theon's arm to turn him and smacked his ass hard enough to make him stumble forward.

Theon's eyes started watering and his face grew hot. Ramsay started saying something about staying and a guest bedroom but Theon barely heard him. He fled to the door and used the pink card to call the elevator. It opened right away and Theon hopped in just as fast. He kept pressing GROUND FLOOR until the doors closed.

His phone started vibrating his back pocket. He wasn't going to answer this time. The storm had come and he had four blocks to walk. He rubbed his nose on his shirt sleeve and was glad for the rain.

He wasn't ready to talk himself out of this one, to spin what had happened. His father would have been so disgusted. He would go back and kill Ramsay if he was a _real_ Greyjoy. He would have punched him at least if he was even a _real_ man.

Theon rubbed his face when the doors opened. Heels clicked on the marble tile faster and faster behind him until Myranda caught his sleeve. 

"Here you go," Theon spun around, grinning at her in his aviators. He slipped her the pink card and a twenty for a tip. Theon pulled his hoodie over his head and a cigarette from his pack and jogged outside into the cold gray weather.


	3. Sugar

“Is this really how you live?” 

Theon’s eyes fluttered but he just couldn’t keep them open. He rolled a little and moaned again. 

“Disgusting. This isn’t even a room.” Ramsay flicked the thin composite board panel of Theon’s room divider. “I guess your uncle filled all the actual rooms with his tacky shit.”

Theon was surrounded by expensive junk; most of it still in the original packaging. He had a mattress, a blanket he was curled under, and two rolling clothes racks filled with his designer clothing, a basket of hair product, and an ironing board with a can of starch, a bottle of cologne, and a rusting iron sitting on it.

“Ramsay?” Theon tried to sit up but it was hopeless. It felt like someone was sitting on his chest and he couldn’t stop trembling. “No, it's my brother’s… he’ll be home soon,” he groaned.

“So will we.” Ramsay knelt by Theon’s mattress and swept the matted hair off his sweaty little forehead. 

“How did you get in here?” 

Ramsay yanked and tossed the thin blanket and found Theon in a little ball around a stuffed squid he was clutching. He smiled and gathered the boy in his arms. 

“What- what are you doing?”

As he carried Theon through the apartment, Ramsay caught on to the fact that there were lots of boxes of the same products; laptops, iPhones, XBoxs. “Is this your brother’s shitty idea of money laundering? You’re burning up.”

Theon looked over Ramsay’s shoulder and saw Rodrik splayed out on the floor by the couch. “What happened? Is he just high or…”

“Hold onto your squid. We’re not stopping or coming back.”

“What? How did you even know where I live?”

Ramsay snorted. “You showed me.”

“I did?” Theon started coughing, doing little jerky situps in Ramsay’s embrace with each wet eruption. Ramsay lifted and turned him so that Theon’s thighs rested on his hips, and his head on Ramsay’s shoulder. Theon hugged Ramsay’s neck just to hold on. “But, Rodrik- what happened?”

Ramsay took him out onto the landing and shut the door behind them. “He’s out.”

“But…” Theon sank into Ramsay and tried to catch his breath. His chest was too painfully heavy to keep talking. His sweat made him even colder as the air blew past while Ramsay descended the stairwell. 

A bleach blond girl was smoking in hot pink leopard print pajama bottoms and a black tank top. “Hey, Greyjoy… partied out again?”

Theon arms dropped and bounced off Ramsay’s back. Before he passed out again he tried to comprehend things. He had always thought, without even knowing it, that Rodrik would defend him, or if not  _ defend _ Theon exactly, at least scare worse people away. What had he been paying for all these years? All the fear and humiliation should have been worth at least some kind of protection.

“He won’t even try to find me,” Theon realized.

“No. He won’t.” Ramsay grinned to himself and rubbed Theon’s back.

 

Theon woke and tried to sit up. Again, it was hopeless. His limbs were numb abstractions, but he felt Black Sam at his chest and the softest blanket around him and so let himself drift off again. 

 

“Theon, sit up.”

He stretched and rolled onto his back. “What?”

“Here.” An arm slid behind him and pulled him up to sitting. “Take your medicine.”

Theon rubbed his heavy eyes. “Ramsay?”

“Take this. Open.”

Theon opened his mouth for the pill and swallowed it when Ramsay put a glass to his lips. “What… why… am I here?”

“You’re sick.” Ramsay sat beside Theon’s legs on the leather couch that looked rough but was really soft.

“You-you got me sick.”

“Yeah.” Ramsay put a cool, damp washcloth on his forehead. “Things worked out that way.”

Theon sighed with relief. His heavy eyelids fell again. “Why?” But he didn’t get to hear the answer.

 

The next time he woke up, it seemed he was alone. He wasn’t shaking or sweating anymore, but he still felt terribly weak and found it hard to catch his breath.  _ There has to be a fire escape. _ There literally HAD to be or the fire marshall would… shut down the building or it wouldn’t be up to code or something, so there had to be an exit beside the damn elevator. 

 

After some amount of time he was unable to distinguish, Theon rose and took a few plodding steps. He felt like he was wading through mud with phantom limbs. He just couldn’t breathe. It made his numb body so heavy.  _ How did this happen?  _

 

He tried to remember. 

 

***

 

Theon sat on the trunk of Rodrik’s Cadillac, smoking a cigarette under a towering flashing sign. He looked at his phone again. Three in the morning. Hardly anyone would wander through the parking lot until the club closed in two hours. He looked up at the pitch black sky and watched his rising smoke turn gold, then grey, then pink. 

“Hello, Theon,” a low voice said, right behind him. 

Theon turned and grinned. “Hi! What are you looking for?”

Ramsay cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“What would you like to take home tonight?” Theon patted the trunk and took another drag. 

Ramsay took his cigarette out of Theon’s mouth, dropped and crushed it. “You.”

“Really?” Theon looked around then hopped down. “Let’s go in then. I never go in.”  _ People never buy shit on their way out, anyhow _ , he thought. “Race you!”

 

He had a drink in the club.

 

“Watch this!” Theon had flicked a quarter into Ramsay’s shot glass- first try. 

Ramsay looked at him strangely. Words had kept pouring out anyhow. “We can play something else. I'm really good at darts. Wanna see?"

"Yeah. I'll play with you."

 

 

He’d woken up here before. On the couch, the same couch. There was lightning and thunder. 

 

“Ramsay?” He had peered into the doorway. 

A flat screen was playing quietly across from his king sized bed. Ramsay had looked up and stopped typing on his laptop.

“Could I…” He hugged himself and jumped when thunder boomed. 

Ramsay folded his laptop and smiled. “Come here.”

“I’m sorry. I woke up on your couch…”

“You passed out on my couch.”

“I know.”

“You drank way too much.”

“I know. I know I do-did. Uh…” He looked with dread to the white light streaking like shattering cracks through the black sky. “I hate this time of year,” he whispered. 

Ramsay extended his arms and smiled. “Come here.”

A roll of thunder gave Theon the final shove he needed. The room swayed as he crossed it. He crawled into bed let himself be pulled into Ramsay’s lap. He curled up and hid from the storm.

“How could I ever be a pirate?” he moaned, drifting off.

“What?” Ramsay snorted and pet his head. “Who the hell is taking care of you?”

If Theon had a response, he didn’t remember it.

What else?

 

“Just stay.” Before dawn, the next morning, Ramsay was dressed in the kind of nondescript clothing travelers wear. Light, comfortable, durable, easy to move in, dark muted colors. He looked even stronger and more capable than Theon remembered.  “I’ll be right back. I just have to run an errand.”

“I have to go work.”

Ramsay tilted his head in either disbelief and disappointment. “On a Sunday?”

“Yeah.”

Ramsay stood by the elevator debating something with himself.

“Shit!” Theon had taken out his vibrating phone. It was a sad face from Roz. _ What the hell does that mean?!  _ “That’s my boss. I have to go! Could you take me home?”

“Fine.” Ramsay stole Theon’s phone before Theon could stop him and called his own with it. “Let’s keep in touch.”

“Yeah. Sure.” The elevator opened and Theon made a new contact from the number his phone just called.  **DON’T FUCKING RESPOND.**

 

What was he so nervous about? What the hell was this?

 

***

 

He slumped against a wall to catch his breath. It finally dawned on him that he wasn’t wearing his own clothing when the pajama bottoms started slipping off his hips. Where was his phone? Or wallet? Theon forced himself to stand up straight and creep forward. A stairwell should be by the elevator. He just had to find the door.

“Where are you going?”

Theon had to lean against a small, high, circular table which stood at the entrance leading from the elevator to keep from tipping over when he turned. “I have to see Rodrik,” was the first thing he came up with. 

“No, you don’t.” Ramsay looked disappointed again like he expected something else. He came toward Theon like he planned on getting it.

“He’s my brother,” Theon protested. “He was just… on the floor.”

“Brothers are overrated. What has he been doing for you? He has you selling drugs and douchebag sound systems out of the trunk of his car, alone, at 3 am in a parking lot downtown? What else does he have you do?”

Theon shook his head, then laid it on the table because it was too terribly heavy. “I told you, I’m Ironborn.”

“I know exactly who you are,” Ramsay scooped Theon up, hardly phased by his weak struggle, _“Reek.”_


	4. With Me You'll Want to Stay

“What did you call me?” Theon slumped exhausted and frozen in Ramsay’s arms.

“Do you remember?”

He did and didn’t. Theon knew that he knew but he wasn’t able to conjure any actual pictures or story.

Ramsay grinned and laid him back on the couch. he handed Theon back his toy squid. Theon blushed, even through his broken fever, but hugged it to his chest anyhow. “What’s his name?” Ramsay asked then sat down beside him. He pulled the soft blanket up to Theon’s shoulders.

Theon shook his head.

“Feeling shy?” Ramsay loomed closer, sliding his arm toward Theon along the couch’s back. “I guess without the weed and alcohol, you’re all inhibited again. Who do you try to be when you’re sober?”

Theon just shook his head again. He didn’t know the right way to protest all of this. Those aren't questions one human asks another, so just how the fuck was he supposed to come up some kind of retort?

“Too tired from your little trip to talk?” Ramsay sat back, looking handsome and pleased with himself, yet simultaneously on the edge of some kind of dreadful anger; like a beautiful mural whose thin wall blocked a riot. “Ok. You like games. Let’s play another one. I’ll tell you a story, then you tell me one. The job I have is only one I could probably ever keep. I get bored so easily. In fact, even this job, that only I can do, gets… repetitive.”

 

***

 

“Hello, Dom.”

Domeric spun and stumbled, clutching his stomach. “What did you-” he collapsed and curled like a bug.

 

“Hello, Donna.”

“Ah!” His crude and bitter wife spun and seemed to shatter on the floor before he even drew his knife. The rip of duct tape sent his hollow marionette into ‘Oh god’s until she was muffled then silenced forever.

 

“Hello, Joffrey.”

“Shit!” His arms made hilarious circles as he tried to turn, back up and run. He didn’t get far. They never do.

 

“Hello, Ralf.”

Scream, flop, try to run, die.

 

“Hello, Gelmarr.”

Scream, flop, try to run, die.

 

“Hello, Aggar.”

Scream, flop, try to run, die.

 

“Hello, Gynir.”

“Hello, Cassel.”

“Hello, Leo.”

“Hello, Cley.”

Scream, flop, try to run, die; all of them. Same thing, night after night with minor variations.

 

“Hello, Mance.”

Scream, flop, try to fight, die.

 

“Hello, Stannis.”

Growl, flop, give up, die.

 

Until one night.

 

Ramsay grabbed the switchblade in his pocket and slid along the shadows, then up the passenger’s side of a cheesy Cadillac. “Hello, Theon.”

The boy turned and grinned instead of screaming. “Hi! What are you looking for?”

Ramsay frowned. “What?”

“What would you like to take home tonight?”

 _Well, that’s interesting._ This was definitely him, the family resemblance was clear, even if he was a fucking runt. Ramsay took Theon’s cigarette from his smiling mouth, dropped and crushed it. _“You.”_

 

“Really?” Theon looked around then hopped down. “Let’s go in then. I never go in. Race you!”

Ramsay stood there a moment, confused. He watched the boy run into the nightclub. “The fuck?” He pulled a crinkled piece of paper from his pocket, read it and put it back again. He had specifically asked Father, “This guy knows there’s a price on his head?”

“He should know it’s a near-certainty.” Father had smirked. “I think I might enjoy seeing the devastation on his smug face.” Then he had shrugged and waved Ramsay away.

 

Ramsay looked everywhere before giving up. A dark busy club is a pretty good place to lose someone. “Fuck!” He sat at the bar and pounded it a few times.

“Yes, yes, yes. How can I help you?”

“Vodka. Double.”

“Sure, darlink.”

Ramsay squinted. _What kind of accent was that?_ Something different at least.

“Here you go. Boss says, is on house.”

Ramsay forced the corners of his mouth to rise with his shot glass. He dropped both and was splashed. There was a quarter in his shot glass.

Theon rolled his lips together and dropped his eyes like he saw too late it was rude and felt sorry. He quickly tried to erase it. “We can play something else. I’m really good at darts! Wanna see?”

Ramsay slowed warmed and smiled. “Ok.”

 

“YES! Huh?! How you like that? And I’m drrrrrrunk! Did you see?”

“Uh huh.” Ramsay smirked and eyed the nearest exit.

“I mean… you think that’s good right?” Theon put a hand on his knee and grinned just _begging_ Ramsay to be impressed. “Wanna see a hat trick?” He rolled his desert rose lips together and put his other hand on Ramsay’s other knee. “I can do that.” Suddenly, Theon pulled away and turned.

Ramsay gripped the arm of his chair and clenched his jaw.

With a brief glance over his shoulder, Theon caught the change Ramsay wouldn’t have been able to articulate. “Did you want to go first? You’re really good too.” He held out three darts with his delicate hand. Now he was begging again, with his big sad eyes. _Don’t be mad._

“Let’s go to my place," Ramsay pressed. "We can play Mortal Kombat.”

Theon’s eyes bulged. “REALLY? Fuck yes!” He pulled out his wallet but Ramsay stopped him. _Why?_ Credit cards - last known location… it would be better if he didn’t leave a trace. “Let’s go.” He went to grab Theon by his armpit but the boy jumped away and giggled.

“Don’t.” Theon tried to smooth his button up floral shirt and fix his wavy hair.

“Are you,” Ramsay poked Theon’s ribs and watched him jump and twist again, “ticklish?”

“NO.” Theon glanced around anxiously. His shoulders sank under Ramsay’s glare and he self-corrected. “A little… yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, apologizing again, asking again,  _please like me._

“That’s sweet.” Ramsay put an arm around his shoulder and led him out. He couldn’t help himself and poked Theon again before they got to the door.

He giggled and pushed into Ramsay’s side instead of pulling away.

"Be careful on the roads tonight," the bouncer advised as they left. "Cops are looking for drunks on the freeway two exits north."

"Thanks." Ramsay slipped him a fifty.

 

Theon tried to light another cigarette in the parking lot. It chaffed Ramsay so he smacked the pack away. “ **No**.”

Theon looked hurt and ashamed. His big sad aqua eyes peered up at Ramsay until they blinked away. It made Ramsay’s heart race. His helpless face flashed gold, gray, and pink on one side.

Ramsay stole his lighter, grabbed his arm and jerked him forward. “This way.”

A cold gust of wind sent Theon's pack rolling on the gravel.

 

On the ride home, Theon kept rubbing his thumbnail. He sniffed and Ramsay almost slammed on the god damned breaks. But he didn’t. He took a deep breath and waited for the next red light. Then he snapped, “Why are you crying?”

“Fuck you, I’m not crying. Ow!” Theon’s sluggish hand made its way up to his red cheek.

“Do not swear at me." Ramsay's finger was pointing in Theon's sinking face. "That’s **rude**.”

“I’m sorry.” Theon curled up in the passenger’s seat. The passenger’s seat; not the trunk. _What the fuck am I doing?_ And he already fucking looked and felt like he belonged here… in the backseat, where the doors don’t open from the inside.

Ramsay smiled. Just like that; he knew what he wanted.

Theon cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. “You can… I can walk, you know?” He shrugged and tried to smile.

“Walk?”

Theon looked over hesitantly. A red light made his wild hair look magical. His eyes were so shiny; it hurt in a delicious way. “Yeah, if… Look, it’s ok if you don’t want me-”

Ramsay dove off a cliff into Theon’s deep blue waters. He held his head with both hands, trying to pull closer, probe further; he wanted everything. He kissed all along Theon’s sagging jawline and climbed on top of him.

“The light!”

“What?” A horn honked behind them. Theon’s hair was green now. “Shit.” Ramsay turned and dropped back in his seat. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Theon watched Ramsay with awe. He laid there sprawled out, as Ramsay had left him until Ramsay opened his door.

As soon as Theon emerged, Ramsay slammed into him, wrapping both arms under his ass to lift him, while pushing him into the car. “You’re so sweet.”

Theon held on tightly, gasped, moaned and melted. “I-I am?”

“You just **need** to me like you, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Ramsay kissed and bit behind Theon’s jaw up to his ear. “You **need** me to notice you?”

“Yes.”

“You **need** me to want you?”

“Yes.”

Ramsay pressed their chests together so that their hearts pounded against one another. The dome light faded out in his car so that only the track lighting above them etched out Theon’s grasping silhouette. “I’m taking you home now.”

“Ok.”

“You **need** me to tell you what to do, **don’t you**?”

Theon gulped and blinked. His thighs started trembling against Ramsay’s waist. “Y-yes.”

Ramsay grinned, hungry yet satiated. He has all the red meat he can stand; now he wanted dessert. “I know, sweet boy, but I’m glad you could tell me. You just reek of need for me, only me. It’s…” they stared at each other until Ramsay slammed the passenger door. He carried Theon through his garage. “Listen, sweetie, remember you said you would play with me?” Ramsay swiped his card and waited.

“Uh huh,” Theon nodded, already melting further.

“Good boy. Don’t fall asleep yet. I’ll make you tea and then we’ll play a little game.”

 

***

  
“So that’s my story.” Ramsay leaned over to kiss Theon’s forehead. “Now you tell me one.”


	5. Can Baby Come Out to Play?

“Who is this?” Ramsay asked again, softly but more firmly.

Tears stung Theon’s blinking eyes. “It’s just a toy.”

“What’s his name?”

Theon swallowed and studied Ramsay’s face then finally told the truth because he couldn’t think of anything better to do. “Black Sam.”

Ramsay smiled and pet Theon’s hair. “Really? But he’s kind of golden.”

“He was-” Theon stopped himself and looked away. “Are you laughing at me?”

“No. It’s sweet. Who was Black Sam?”

Theon tentatively looked back up, as far as his exhaustion would allow. “The Prince of Pirates. Everyone loved him.”

Ramsay grinned. “Who gave it to you?”

“My mom did… to help me be quiet.”

“Quiet?”

Theon tried to sit up a little. “Are you going to kill me?”

Ramsay almost laughed. “No. I don’t get to draw it out unless I’m interrogating or changing someone’s mind. I only change a person’s mind if they're going to live.”

Theon didn’t understand and pulled the blanket closer to his chin. “Are you changing my mind?”

“Yes.”

Theon swallowed. “What do you want me to do?”

Ramsay lit up and proudly told him, “That’s very good!”

“It is?”

“Yes. That is a very good attitude to have. You’re special, you know that?”

He did not. “I… am?”

“You’re the only person to survive my hit list and I’ve been doing this for quite a while.”

“Who… who put me on it - your list? Why?” It could have been several people, and that alone hurt.

“It’s better not to know, so I never ask.”

“Oh.” Theon nodded.

Ramsay held Theon’s chin to make him look up and sink again into Ramsay’s sparkling winter sky gaze. “Do you remember the game we played?”

It felt like an eternity before Theon forced himself to whisper, “The Reek game?”

Ramsay closed his eyes for just a second. His brow smoothed and lifted on a gust of bliss. “That’s right. The Reek game.”

“I don’t remember very much.”

“I bet you don’t. You know that you drink too much, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Theon admitted, still having nothing better to say than the truth.

“You’re a penniless unemployed dropout. Your brothers, your father, all ran an empire and pushed it further. Your uncles are feared everywhere. I thought I’d be getting an enormous nasty fucking asshole Greyjoy. I thought it would be a _real_ fight at last. I was,” Ramsay laughed, “just _dying_ to kill you and yet, here we are. I couldn’t. What a surprise! So, what happened to you? Your parents were pretty old when they had you, right? What else? How did _you_ come from THAT?”

“I don’t know! Why are you doing this to me?”

“We need to strip away layers of Ironborn Kraken bullshit. That’s step one of our new game. Where did you grow up?”

“A lot of places. I was shuffled around… it’s so hard to talk and stay awake. Could I…?”

“What?” Ramsay darkened.

Maybe it was instinct or years of negotiating through violence and abandonment, perhaps it was the clear expressions dramatically transforming Ramsay’s face, or just the sheer force of his personality, but things clicked for Theon and, for the first time in forever, he actually knew what to do. “Could I sleep with you tonight?”

Ramsay snorted. All the clouds parted and he was a serene blue sky warming Theon again. “Of course you can. Answer two more questions and then you can rest. Who did you live with?”

“Well, my family at first. Then my mom took me to my uncle’s- her brother, Rodrik. No one seemed to care that we were gone. But then my mom got sick and when my father died, another uncle showed up and took me. I didn’t really like living with him so I stayed with friends, but their parents would kick me out so I stayed with Maron, but he went to prison so now I’m staying with Rodrik- my brother.”

“That’s not where you're staying any longer,” Ramsay corrected patiently. “What’s your mother like?”

“She was fragile… loving. My uncle Rodrik adored her. He lived in a nice, clean place like this, alone, like you.”

“Good boy. I see.” Ramsay smoothed the hair away from Theon’s sallow face. “You’re just love-starved,” he mumbled, as if to himself and stood to take Theon in his arms.

Theon tried to take in details, figure out his place in his surroundings. It all felt familiar, but he didn’t have a concrete map draw upon. He struggled to lift his head and merely caught glimpses of the heavy drawn curtains, the dark cherry wood floor, the walls were varying hues of flat, stony colors.

After he laid Theon in bed, Ramsay started speaking softly. “Step two of the game is learning the rules. The number one rule is the most important. People want you dead. You’re only safe because those people think you are. So, no going outside.”

“For how long?”

Ramsay grew a little colder but still wore a placid smile. “Until I say so. We’ll go over the rest later. You’re so weak. Good thing I have you now.”

 _Have me?_ Theon’s breathing may have quickened if it wasn’t so labored.“What happens if I break the rules?”

“You’ll be punished then forgiven.”

Theon’s eyes closed, at last, shutting out the surreal scene. Surely, he’d wake up on Rodrik’s floor tomorrow. _Still,_ “Forgiven?”

“That’s right. So what is there to worry about?”

 

“Wake up.”

“What? Ramsay?”

“Take your medicine. Open. Good boy.”

Theon was so heavy, it was like he’d been sewn into the soft, sweet smelling bed. He fell asleep with the strange thought that he was mud on a cloud.

 

Theon woke with curled against Ramsay’s chest on his red leather couch.

“Sweetie. Come on.”

“What?” Theon peered through slits in his uncooperative eyelids. “Go where?”

“I said, try to eat a little.”

“Oh… yeah. Ok.” He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “I feel better.”

“Good,” Ramsay said so low and gently, it felt like another cashmere blanket. “Take a bite for me.” Ramsay’s soft, dark lashes contrasted with his sharp, bright gray eyes.

Theon’s stomach contracted as if it was trying to suck the food in through his dry, indifferent mouth. He took a bite to win another smile. “I love peanut butter and jelly!”

Ramsay beamed at him. "Take your medicine."

 

Some time during some night, Theon woke up with Ramsay wrapped around him. He was able to sit up, stand, and quietly find his way to the master bathroom. Theon used the toilet, washed his hands and stubbed his toe, but Ramsay was still breathing deeply, lost in sleep when he crossed the smooth floorboards.

“Ramsay?”

He didn’t stir.

Theon crept closer to Ramsay’s night stand. The alarm clock read 2:05. In the blue LED light, the corner of Ramsay’s card which poked out from his wallet looked hot pink, like a beacon or a warning. Glancing around quickly, Theon saw Ramsay’s black work clothes crumpled on the floor. His towel had looked damp when Theon was in the bathroom. He must have been working late. _He’s probably out cold._

Theon stood frozen, halfway between the open bedroom door and the bed. Rain gently tapped the wall of windows across from him.

It always storms in the spring, almost every day. It could start any moment. Theon hates storms. They toss boats around. He could still hear pans and cups falling out of cabinets in the kitchenette. Storms rolled his father out of bed roaring, slamming and throwing things. He hated noises. He hated being bothered. He was so big in Theon’s memories and seemed to hate everything.

 

Theon crawled back into bed.

Ramsay pulled him closer with a small cough then sighed and draped his heavy arm across Theon’s chest.

Theon would leave soon when he was better and stronger. When he had clothes and a plan. He tried to work on a plan, but sleep overtook him before he could start.


	6. Save Me from the Grave

Bright light never warmed the bedroom. The colors never changed and no one came in but Ramsay.

More than five days had passed, at least, because the first round of antibiotics was over. He’d probably been here in this opulent but bare limbo for two weeks now because Ramsay had come and gone ten times.

He checks his watch as he’s getting ready. He goes to another room and prepares a bag, or luggage maybe. Theon can hear the shuffling of fabrics, snapping of cases, and zippers running up their closing tracks.

When Ramsay comes back hours later, he tosses clothes down a chute, takes a shower, then he crawls into bed, over Theon, and kisses him.

Theon pretends to wake up, but he’s getting better now; good enough to hide the pills Ramsay gives him in his cheek and flush them away as soon as he gets the chance. He had to brush his teeth, gagging yesterday (was it yesterday?) when Ramsay didn’t leave and the pill started dissolving into a bitter pile of sludgy gravel beside his wisdom tooth. Theon decided he needed his own plan for himself. Not taking the pills is **his** step one.

 

He sat up in Ramsay’s expansive plush bed and rubbed his crusty eyes. A cold steel lamp clicked on obligingly but didn’t offer much light.

Today he was going to make it from the bed, to the bathroom, and then all the way over the heavy crimson curtains and open them at fucking last. That was step two of the plan and it had to finally happen today.

Rolling out of bed was the first challenge. It was much easier, far less painful, to breath now but his muscles seemed to have deteriorated from lack of use and sustenance. His feet hit the woodfloor successfully, but wobbled when he stood. He had to wait at the foot of the bed with one hand on the cashmere comforter and rally himself before making his way to the bathroom.

 

Theon’s reflection was becoming more of a caricature Balon would have ripped apart. He looked thinner yet softer. He was a mess and only ever wore Ramsay’s flannel pajamas bottoms, which hung more loosely from his hips then before. He ran his fingers through his hair to try to smooth and move it. Then he headed back.

When he stopped to rest at the foot of the bed, Theon sank to the floor. _That’s fine._ He can pull himself up and he didn’t get _into_ the bed. He wasn’t going to sleep more days away. He’d rested enough. He was fine. He just had to get up.

“Get up,” he told himself in a crackling voice. “Just do it!”  His body failed to comply. “Come on. Just fucking do it. One, two-” His ass barely made it off the floor.

This was all wrong. He was doing it the hard way so he got on all fours and faced the bed, then up on his knees. This was going great! Finally he grabbed the bed, pulled and pushed with one leg, then the other. “Okay,” he sighed. The curtains were mostly distinguishable from the wall by their texture. He’d come to hate them, actually. They gave no clue as to what was happening outside, like the world was their treasure to keep for themselves. _“I’m coming, bitches.”_

One step. That went well. Another step. Now he picked up speed. The curtains were closer. Almost there.

He stopped to bend, grabbing both knees. His chest heaved to draw deep breaths. The room just didn’t have enough oxygen. He was already tingling, light, almost numb and nightmarishly weak; trudging along, barely moving anything, going nowhere.

Theon stood up suddenly; fast enough to make himself swoon. “Nope! No fucking way. **This** is the day!”

He pressed on and at last reached out to feel dusty crushed velvet. “Ha!”  A pattern of X’s with four teardrops dripping away from each corner down across the fabric. Theon tried to tear it open, but it barely flapped. He looked down and squinted. The curtains were on a top and bottom track like a sliding door. _Is he a fucking vampire or what?_

Theon inched towards the center and found the slit were one curtain somewhat overtook the other. “HA!” He greedily worked his burning weak arms and slid his fingers through the opening. The curtains parted enough to make a miraculous hole he could peer through.

It was night. _Night_. Night didn’t belong to Ramsay, it wasn’t something he picked or made. A few lights glowed below; one street lamp, one sign of changing colors, passing headlights, and waiting brake lights so far below him. The building across the street was low and dark, a black spot blocking out everything behind it.

Theon was sighing when he heard the something. He knew it was the elevator and slowly turned around. That’s when he saw the laptop on Ramsay’s desk. _Hello, step three._

“Reek?”

“Ramsay!” He spun and stumbled.

“You’re better.” Ramsay pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it down the chute.

“Yeah,” Theon panted. “It’s still hard, uh, to move but... I’m awake. Where did you go?”

“I had a terrible meeting,” Ramsay grumbled. He dropped his belt on the floor and tossed his trousers down the chute. “Good thing you’re awake to make me feel better.” There was something sharp in his smile that made Theon feel like he’d been caught even though he didn’t do anything wrong.

_He doesn’t know._

“I got you some presents.”

“You did?! Really?” Theon’s stomach somersaulted. He knew the many things that gifts could mean.

Still, Ramsay seemed softened by his reaction. “You’ve been wearing those jammies for quite awhile.” Ramsay walked over and lifted Theon back onto the bed. “Bath time.” He leaned over Theon who shrunk back accordingly. “Stay put. You’re too weak to be running around, _getting into things.”_

Theon laid down under Ramsay. He seemed even bigger and broader lately. Maybe Theon was just shrinking. An airy white cotton undershirt hung from Ramsay’s viper chest because he’d just taken off a smart button up, because he was was important and powerful and had a place in the world while Theon slept, locked high away in this tower, wearing the borrowed pajama pants that slipped off his narrow hips.

Ramsay kissed Theon's smooth stomach, just above his belly button. “What are you going to do once I get up?”

“Stay right here.”

“Stay right here, _what_?” Ramsay’s sharp, bright eyes bore into Theon’s.

“I… promise?”

Ramsay smirked and tickled Theon, sending him rolling and jerking. He couldn’t not laugh. It was just a reflex; he had no control.

Ramsay left looking amused and started running water in the master bathroom.

 

When Ramsay came back to collect Theon he decided, “Time for your next lesson.”


	7. Like You Never had Wings

Ramsay lowered Theon carefully and with surprising ease. “Is it too hot?”

“No.” Theon scooted back through soft tickling bubbles as soon as Ramsay released him. “It’s nice.”

“Good. I’ll be right back. Where are you going to stay for me?”

“Right here.”

Ramsay grabbed Theon’s chin and lifted it. “We can make that answer sweeter, can’t we?” He smiled sharply as he rose then left the bathroom.

Theon pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them.

 

Ramsay came back with a towel, washcloth and a duffle bag. “I want you to enjoy this bath. I think it might help you understand.”

“Understand?”

Ramsay knelt on the plush bath mat and extended his thick hand. “Give me your arm.”

Water fell like tears from Theon’s fingertips.

Ramsay blew the bubbles off like a kiss. “Opposites are always fundamentally the same.” Ramsay began stroking the thin arm with the washcloth. He stared at Theon, waiting.

“They are?”

“That’s right. What’s the opposite of a dog?”

“Um, a … cat?” Theon guessed uneasily.

“Exactly. It’s not an ant, or a flower, or a star, right? It’s another social quadrupedal mammal; another pet. They’re fundamentally the same, but a loyal, loving, obedient, dependent dog is also the wonderful inverse of an aloof, hissing, demanding, independent cat who will leave the moment your door is left cracked open. Right?”

“Heh,” Theon more spasmed than laughed. “I love dogs,” he added awkwardly.

“Me too,” Ramsay said softly. He held Theon’s wrist and turned it to study his hand. “But they’re both pets, that’s the thing.”

“Uh huh.” Adrenaline was starting to work through Theon’s exhausted body. His energy flickered and slowly warmed brighter, like fluorescent lights buzzing and stuttering to life in the dead of winter.

“So, remember that this bathtub is a nice place where I take care of you because you’re important to me.” Ramsay’s grip tightened on Theon’s wrist. “Even if you wake up sometime and find that it appears to be the opposite of a nice hot bath; it’s still fundamentally the same thing.”

“What?”

“Do you understand?”

“No,” but Theon shuddered. “I’m sorry.”

Ramsay’s intense expression softened. “That’s alright. I’m here to guide you.”

“The opposite?” Theon began to draw quick shallow breaths. “Like… like, ice. Like, you want my kidney or-”

Ramsay burst out laughing and, for a moment, it seemed like _of course_ this was all just a joke! A prank that Rodrik or his uncle… but the scenario fell apart before it finished being constructed. He’d been here for days. He met Ramsay weeks before that. It didn’t make any sense.

“Not your kidney!” Ramsay laughed so happily, Theon actually relaxed a little and laughed too.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know. My imagination, uh… heh.”

"I love your imagination!" Ramsay rested his forearm and head on the side of the tub and shined adoration at Theon which made him laugh and blush again. “They don’t want your kidney.”

The smile slowly dried on Theon’s face. “Wha- who what?”

“My client. They want proof of death. No organs… wait, are they? I don’t know, I’m not a fucking doctor but it’s nothing you really _need_ anymore.”

“What? Why? What are you talking about?” Theon pushed away but Ramsay grabbed his wrist and a knee and yanked him back. Water sloshed in the tub and spilled over the side.

“Shh. It’s for your own good. You won’t even be awake, that’s how special you are,” Ramsay confessed tenderly. “But, Theon Greyjoy owes me a bit of flesh; a non-essential bit of skin and things; that’s all. It’s an odd request, but I have a reputation of stellar service to protect and, once Theon is proven dead, you’ll be safe.”

“What? I … I don’t want to. I don’t want you to take anything. Why? Are you sure it’s non-essential?!"

“Completely. Just who the hell are you planning on impregnating, your pillow?” Ramsay teased affectionately. “Maybe you’ll feel better if you see the tools. Like at the dentist, right?” Ramsay offered. “You’re not going to run if I let you go, are you?”

“ _No_ ,” Theon somewhat whined. “I won’t.”

“Because what would happen?” Ramsay pressed.

“You… you would just,” a lump welled up in Theon’s throat and blocked his speech. He tried to swallow it away. “You would catch me anyway.”

“And?”

“P-punish me?”

“Very good.” Ramsay released Theon and turned away to unzip and dig in his bag. “Here’s the vice.”

“Holy shit,” Theon gasped before he even saw the thing.

“And this scalpel; it’s _just_ like a real surgeon would use. Don’t worry, I know exactly how to sterilize everything. I’ll be so careful with you. What?” Ramsay smiled playfully and put the shiny tools back into their compartments. “I’m not going to use this!” His hand shot up brandishing a butcher knife the size of his head.

“Holy fucking shit. You kill people.”

“Uh, yeah. I told you that.”

“You really kill people,” Theon rasped.

“Baby, hey,” Ramsay soothed, as he but the knife back. “I’m not going to kill _you,_  though. Ok?”

“But you were- you were going to!”

“Yeah, but I DIDN’T. So… you’re welcome, Theon. Now you owe me just a little, tiny favor.”

“Oh god.” Theon clasped his face with both hands, but couldn’t stop staring at Ramsay’s easy smile.

“I never get to show anyone any of this, unless I’m working them and that’s not really the time for being friendly, you know? Hey! Do you want to see the knife I was going to use? It’s a little switchblade, see? It was my grandfather’s. It’s mine now.” Ramsay dug a bit and pulled out a switchblade with leather and ivory handle. “Beautiful, don’t you think?”

Theon started gasping over and over like a fishing drowning on deck, loud enough to wake Ramsay from his reverie.

“That’s the face people make before I stab them,” he said flatly, expressionless.

“Please, _please…_ ”

Ramsay grinned. “I’m not going to stab you! My punishments for you won’t involve any knives, is that why you’re panicking?” Ramsay frowned with concern and put the knife away. “I know this is hard for you but I have to prove that Theon Greyjoy is dead, sweet boy. I need that proof tonight.”

Theon swayed. He gripped the tub to keep from falling.

“Easy. Not right now. I’ll get you some medicine once the water gets cool-”

  
“WAIT! I’m not Theon!”

Ramsay inhaled deeply and grew brighter. _“Who are you?”_

“Reek. Please, you can’t… I’m not Theon. Don’t… please?”

“Shhh, good boy.” Ramsay’s arms swung to catch Reek and pulled him close. “Ok, Reek. I’ll just take one toe instead. You won’t feel a thing. Don’t cry, sweetheart. No one will come to kill you once this is over. I’ll take care of you.” Ramsay hummed a little and stroked Reeks damp, wavy hair as he rubbed his cheek against the tip of Reek’s ear. “I’ll protect you forever. Now,” he said in a low, velvet voice, _ **“Who are you?** ”_

“Reek.”

“And who am I?”

Reek’s muscled eased and dropped into surrender. “ _Daddy_ ,” he whispered.

Ramsay blinked and squeezed his eyes shut. “Good boy, Reek. That’s a very good little boy.”


	8. I'm Afraid of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _Weeks Later_  
> 

Reek sprang up to sitting and grabbed the arm of the couch. _He’s home._ Yanking his crutch from where it leaned against the coffee table, he tried to hurry to the door. Reek’s stomach twisted with dread but also fluttered with excitement, which was good. He likes Reek to be excited to see him.

Ramsay smiled as soon as the shining doors slid apart for him. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes.” Reek smiled back. “Always.” He meant it. Maybe because he was alone all the time otherwise, maybe because Ramsay enjoyed being affectionate and generous lately, or, as Ramsay loved to tell him, lips brushing against Reek’s ear, because he always wanted this.

 

Whatever the reason, today the sweetness of their happy ritual quickly turned sour.

 

Ramsay stepped out and Reek stepped back, a new confusing face melted the good one. “What is it?” Ramsay demanded more impatiently than he meant to. He held a bag of new gifts, there were plans to get to. He wanted that face gone.

“You have something on your…” Reek swallowed and pantomimed slashes across his chest. “You smell like…”

“I know. I had fighter tonight.”

“Did you go _shopping_ like that? Did people see you?!”

 **“Reek,** **_come here_** **.”**

Reek lowered his head and looked up with large, calming eyes then obeyed.

“Give Daddy a nice hello.”

Reek’s whimper and soft kiss set Ramsay’s tense shoulders at ease. “Good boy. Of course, I didn’t go out in public like this; I never do after a job. Do you think it’s your place to question me?”

Reek shrank a little more. He voice softened further. “No, Sir. I’m sorry. I just… I don’t want them to take you away.” He blinked at the tears brimming in his pretty eyes. Ramsay smirked. Reek leaned closer.  “Poor boy. Come here.”

Reek wrapped his thin arms around Ramsay’s neck. He was so perfect, it made Ramsay dizzy. Dropping the bag, Ramsay swooped Reek up into his arms. He loved Reek like this, connected to him with his feet off the floor; like when he slept on Ramsay’s chest or laid on the couch with his head in Ramsay’s lap, or best yet when Ramsay was above and inside him, pinning his slight wrists to the mattress.

He carried Reek to the living room.

“It’s ok to worry, Reek. It’s ok to be scared, and it’s very good to tell Daddy, but don’t ever question me like that again.”

Reek’s voice cracked when he apologized.

“I’ll forgive you, after your punishment.”

Reek tried to stifle a whimper but Ramsay caught it.

“Don’t try to be too brave, little boy. I want to know you’re sorry. I like to see that attitude has been corrected.”

As soon as he set Reek on the couch, he tried to cross his thighs. He was blushing deeply, he was already melting into the sweetest surrender. It made Ramsay softer. This is why no one else worked or lasted; they just weren’t built like Reek. Ramsay wished he had found him sooner for both their sakes.

“Don’t hide.” Ramsay pushed Reek’s knees apart and down. The thin cotton pajama bottoms he wore didn’t hide his growing excitement.

Reek winced. “I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s good,” Ramsay explained, pressing closer. “You want this. You know you need me to guide you, to protect and punish you, don’t you?”

 _“Yes,”_ Reek whispered.

“You love it.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“You love me.”

_“Yes.”_

Ramsay smiled and kissed Reek’s forehead then sat up straight. “You’re such a good boy, really. It makes it hard to be strict. Maybe I don’t need the belt.”

“Please?” Reek started shaking. “Please don’t, Daddy. I’m sorry! Please, I’m sorry-”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid of - blood.”

“I know, baby. You’re so sweet and sensitive. Why are you sorry, though?”

“I shouldn’t have asked about… you going out or what you do. I’m not your equal. I don’t know as much as you. I don’t know how to,” Reek’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling for some reason. Ramsay glanced up as well, not understanding. But then he swallowed and continued. “... be a grown up. I won’t question you again.”

That made Ramsay happy. “Good boy. Ok, then.” He patted his lap. “Come on.”

Reek sniffed and crawled into place.

Ramsay adjusted his narrow hips and grabbed his waist. “Who are you?”

“Your Reek.” His head flung backward when smacked him especially hard.

“Are you in trouble, Reek? You’re getting a spanking. Do good little boys get punished, or naughty ones? What do naughty boys make sure to say when they’re in being punished?”

“Your Reek, Daddy.”

“That’s better. Pull your jammies down.”Reek whined pathetically. It made Ramsay smile. He enjoyed the warm pink spreading on his boy’s ass.

Reek cried out at the second blow. “Do you tell me what to do?”

“No, Daddy. I’m sorry.”

“Are you in charge of me, little boy?”

“No. You’re in charge of me, Daddy.” Reek squeaked when he was swatted. He started trembling.

Ramsay rubbed his hot red bum in slow, light circles. “Tell Daddy you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Reek said into the hands clasped over his face.

“Why did I punish you?”

“Because I was bad-”

“What?”

Reek jumped and winced when he got one more smack. “Because… I was a bad boy, Daddy. I’m sorry.”

“Good boy. I forgive you.  Come here to me.” Reek struggled to push himself up, but Ramsay couldn’t wait to lift and turn him and hug him tightly. “Shh. I’m not mad, sweet boy. It’s ok. I know you were scared. You’re so delicate. It’s wonderful. You don’t have to be scared for me, baby. I’ll always come home and if I lose you I will find you.”

Reek nodded against his chest. “Please, your shirt…”

“What, sweetheart? I can’t hear you.”

“It smells like-”

“Right, of course, honey. Let’s go take a bath and change. I got you new underwear and new PJs. They cleaned them downstairs for me.” Ramsay stood quickly and took Reek to their room. “Now they smell nice and sweet and they’re soft and cute,” he cooed. “Just like you.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Reek’s eyelashes and breath tickled Ramsay’s scruffy neck. _“Will you play with me before bed?”_

“Good boy.” Ramsay hummed happily to himself and sat on the side of the tub to start running the bath. “Of course I will, sweetheart. I’ll make you feel all better.” He kissed Reek’s messy hair.

Ramsay tapped Reek’s right thigh. “Put your foot in.”

Reek looked away. He hated to see it but it was a good reminder.

“Is it too hot, baby?”

“No, Sir.”

“Good. Here we go. I’ll be right back, Reek. What will you do when I’m gone?”

“Stay right here, Sir.”

“Good boy.” Ramsay patted his head and left to strip and toss his bloody clothes.


	9. The Honey Inside Your Hive

Time passed, though Theon wasn’t sure how much. Ramsay came and went and Reek missed him when he was gone. If he was gone for too long, Ramsay would often come home with some treat or a shopping bag full of presents. Each time he came back, Reek walked to the door a little better and faster.

Sometimes Ramsay would pick him up and swing him around, or pat his head, or give him a kiss, but he always seemed happy that Reek was there.

Theon barely remembered his mother, but he remembered a lot of things about her. Her hair started turning a silky silver when he was in elementary. She was in bed a lot, her room would be dark. He never really understood the kind of sick she was.

Sometimes he snuck into her room and softly called for her. She’d always sit up and smile at him, no matter how tired she was. _“Come here, honey. Tell me what you did today.”_ She was always happy to see him, until the day she was gone.

 

As pathetic as he told himself it was, Theon missed being wanted and loved to make Ramsay happy. It wasn’t so hard. The rules were always clear, except that whenever Theon felt a level of comfort or acceptance with his new boundaries, Ramsay seemed to know and cinched them tighter.

 

 **“What are you doing?”** Theon was daydreaming again. Ramsay’s tone made him weak. _Reek rhymes with weak._

“I was…” he found himself frozen, holding the refrigerator handle like he’d been caught stealing money. “I…”

Ramsay closed his laptop and got up from his desk.

Theon shut the refrigerator door and yanked his hand away from it. “I was thirsty.” He shrugged apologetically.

Ramsay grabbed Reek’s chin and held his gaze. “You’re a good boy,” Ramsay said in a low, warm voice. “What do you think you _should_ do when you’re thirsty?”

“Please…” One day Theon would say it; _I can’t do this anymore_.

He used to think, some nebulous amount of time ago, that he would regain his strength and fight Ramsay. ‘ _Like a Greyjoy’_ used to repeat in his head over and over until the time he slammed it into shower tile. Then, of course, he had to be punished and couldn’t be trusted in the bathroom anymore.

“Reek? Pay attention. **I asked you a question.** Is ‘please’ an answer?”

“No, Sir. I didn’t want to ask you. You were busy.”

“Who makes that decision?”

“What?”

Ramsay lowered himself to Reek’s eye level. “If I’m too busy? Who makes that decision?”

“You. You do.”

“That’s right. So what will you do if you need something and I’m right here?”

“Please-”

“Are you arguing with me?”

“No. No, I’m not trying to argue.”

“Then answer my question. **Now** , Reek.”

Theon’s gaze fell to his disfigured feet. “I’ll ask you, Daddy.”

“Good boy.” He cupped Reek’s face with one thick hand.

Reek nuzzled into his kind touch. A tear fled his eye and into Ramsay’s palm.

“Look, you’ve worn yourself out. You’re so fragile. You can have a cookie and drink then you need to take a nap.”

“Yes, Sir.” He rubbed his eyes. It was easier to sleep then to think about why he was crying.

 

That’s how Theon always lost what should have been battles.

 

He laid in Ramsay’s bed, resisting sleep, and imagined being rescued again; this time with camera crews and everything, like he was a kid the fire department pulled from a well. He’d have a thick, stiff blanket around his shoulders. Swaying camera lights would catch the drizzle around him.

“So here’s Theon, nephew of controversial entrepreneur, Euron Greyjoy. But what was he doing in a hitman’s penthouse?”

Theon imagined himself in a mock office on a cold soundstage with books and flowers on shelves behind him,  sitting uncomfortably in a tall chair across from a famous journalist.

“So, how did he get you stay?” They’d ask.

“I didn’t… I didn’t have the key- the card- his key card.”

It would probably be a lady in her 50s who leaned forward and spoke in a soft but full voice with some kind of proper accent. “Why didn’t you just stab him when he was sleeping?”

_No, she couldn’t say that._

“Why didn’t you ask for help? The police say someone brought up laundry once a week and did house cleaning twice a month.”

“Only when _he_ was there and I had to wait in his room!”

“So?” She would insist, shaking her head. “Why not call for help then?”

“Because!” Theon would shake his head right back at her. “Look what he did to me! He’s a killer!”

“I thought Greyjoys were killers.”

“I’m not.”

“Why couldn’t you use glass cups or silverware?”

Maybe a cameraman would snicker or a producer with a headset would lean over to whisper to a PA who would giggle.

“When he- the night, or day-”

“Which was it?”

“I don’t know! I could only watch the Netflix account he made for me. I couldn’t look out the windows-”

“Really?” She would never believe that. The audience wouldn’t either.

“Whenever it was, he told me he killed Rodrik. I had a hard time with that. I wasn’t right, you don’t understand. Things blurred; I was almost two people living in my head, and dreams, and in memories. Time wasn’t the same there. Things were kind of unreal. So then… I don’t know how it happened. I didn’t plan it. I think I only watched myself break the glass. But I have it now; the scar. It’s _mine_ \- something I did that he couldn’t take from me, so he took the glasses and silverware away instead.”

“And then I couldn’t even use the plastic cups he bought me because I couldn’t do anything without him,” Theon mumbled out loud. “And I wondered what else I had to lose?”

Maybe the reporter would say, “Why didn’t you steal his phone when he was sleeping?” Or “Couldn’t you steal his card?”

“I was going to,” he would tell her. Or maybe he would say, “I did! Once I came up with my plan. First I thought of how to get out, that wasn’t the hard part. I didn’t know what to do outside. I didn’t want him to get hurt or go to jail.” No, he wouldn’t admit that on television.

With a sigh, Theon and curled up around Black Sam. He fell asleep searching his mind for that second part of the plan again.

 

“Reek?”

He liked waking up to Ramsay’s voice. It was strange to feel happy here, but it was a small, safe world Theon lived in now. Sometimes the old expansive one seemed like a nightmare, the kind where he was running without going anywhere.

Stretching and rolling through the lush bed, he blindly found his way to Ramsay’s chest. He was wearing one of those thick cotton shirts Reek hates. “Don’t leave.”

Ramsay’s arms wrapped around him. His kisses fell on Reek’s head. “I have to go to work, sweetie. Do you want me to put something on for you?”

Reek nodded. “Something happy. I had a sad dream.”

Ramsay caressed his head. “Poor boy. Here.” He leaned away then sank back and booped Theon with his squid. “Take Sam.”

Theon sighed and brought the toy to his chest.

“I got you more brownies.”

“I just want you to stay this time. Just once?”

“Tonight is very important, Reek. It feels like…” Ramsay thought and pet Reek’s head. “It’s special. It will mean a lot for us.”

Theon opened his eyes at last. “Why?”

Ramsay tickled him then climbed over him while he writhed and tried not to laugh. “This one might take two days.”

Theon went rigid.

Ramsay responded by pinning his wrists.

“Wait… what? But a storm is coming!”

"Oh? How do you know?" Ramsay’s grin soured when his phone exploded the quiet with screeching Kill Bill sirens.

“Why is _he_ calling?” Reek moaned sympathetically.

“To bitch about some shit.” Ramsay hit ignore.

“That won’t work,” Theon pouted.

Ramsay turned his phone off. “It will work for now.”

“He doesn’t want you to go either?”  _Just let him leave! You want him gone,_  Theon screamed inside.But that wasn’t true, just what Theon knew _should_ be true. 

Ramsay darkened then smiled patiently and pulled Reek’s clothes off. “My father is the complete opposite of you. You're both… family but you make me happy. Even _talking_ about him makes me unhappy. Reek, who is in charge of me?”

“You are.”

“That’s right.” Ramsay rubbed his slick, hot dick on Reek’s tummy while he used a toy to work him open. “And who is in charge of you, little boy?”

“You are, Daddy.”

“Good boy."  

Reek hummed and held fast to Ramsay once he was inside. "Ah." Everything was worth it in these ecstatic moments but they didn't last forever.

After a punishment or ‘playtime’ Ramsay would hold Reek and pet him. Ramsay’s smell and the feel of his skin on Reek’s became soothing, even necessary. It was so easy to sleep in his arms.

"Take your medicine, sweet boy."

 

When Reek woke up next, he was alone. He hated that, but he’d have to get used to it. He was going to die as Theon or Reek and the time to choose between the two was quickly running out. This was Ramsay’s big job. He had really left. _Today is the day._

He didn’t have a bag or backpack, so he used Ramsay’s pillowcase. The sheets hadn’t been washed for a few days so it still smelled like him. Theon took the food Ramsay had set out and dropped it inside.

 

In a thrilling act of rebellion, he opened Ramsay’s laptop. It was locked, but that didn’t matter- it told him the time. The lobby closed in a few hours. He had to hurry.

 

He took down a painting of a dead forest and pulled the nail holding it from the wall. He used a can of soup to hammer the nail through Ramsay’s belt. It was awkward, but eventually he made a hole new hole and the belt held Ramsay’s pants up. After three pairs of socks, Ramsay’s boots fit well enough to use. He could even walk a little better.

He wrote the note:

_Please tell Ramsay I’m sorry but I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry if you have to clean up the mess._

 

Then there was nothing left to do but drop it down the chute, sit by the door and wait. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, clutching a frying pan.

 

While he waited, he tried to walk through the map in his mind. Going down the elevator, running through the lobby, out to the landing, down the stairs, left on the sidewalk, up two blocks and two over. There was a 24-hour gas station nearby. He’d ask to use the phone-

The elevator was humming.

Theon quickly stood and gripped the pan's handle with white knuckles. _“I’m sorry,"_ he repeated.

But Myranda didn’t come through the door. Neither did a security gaurd, or any other stranger. Ramsay did and fell before Theon hit him.


	10. The Maelstrom

Ramsay rolled onto his side. He was covered in sweat and clutching his heart.

The elevator doors approached his ankle then stopped. A digital bell rang. _Bim-bum._ The doors rolled back and waited, then crawled toward his ankle again. “I got sick… driving home.”

Theon remained frozen, pressing his palms into the cool wall behind him.“Sick?”

Struggling to push himself from the floor, Ramsay teetered like it was rolling.

_Bim-bum_

“No. No. I’m not right.” Ramsay clutched his stomach and rolled onto his back. He didn’t seem to see Theon but stared at the ceiling, following the movements of something that wasn’t there with large black pupils. “My poor car.”

_Bim-bum_

“What is it? Ramsay, what happened?”

There was still vomit on Ramsay’s shoulder and part of his sleeve. “Reek…” He tried to sit up, yet faltered again. “I think… I’m dissolving.” Ramsay slurred, staring at his hand incredulously.

_Bim-bum_

He started vomiting violently.

“Oh shit.” Theon shook his head. One step, then another. He knelt beside Ramsay and stole the pink card from his thick hand and the wallet from his back pocket. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You’ll be ok.”

_Bim-bum_

Ramsay was turning red. “Just board thindows.”

Theon lifted Ramsay’s ankles and set them outside the elevator door. “It’s ok. You’ll be ok.”

The elevator closed and descended with Theon. Ramsay didn’t hear the humm of the elevator, which had always launched his Reek into hobbling to greet him. In his racing mind, he heard a heard a terrible storm sweeping all precious things away into a raging black sea. “Reeno…”

 

_Three Months Ago - at a terrible meeting_

 

“So?” Ramsay wondered around Roose’s office when his father couldn’t bother to set his work aside. “You said this was important?”

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Father muttered.

“YES, actually, I fucking do.” Ramsay sat down anyway.

Roose snorted. “Oh? You haven’t been spending money in your usual recklessly gauche fashion. Just what _have_ you been doing with yourself lately?”  

Ramsay leaned closer to his father’s desk. “You have no right to look into my accounts. It’s _my_ money.”

Roose finally glanced up, expressionless as ever. “That _I_ pay you. What is the only trail police could possibly follow from one of your many victims to me?”

Ramsay rolled his eyes and leaned back in Father’s creaky chair. He had exactly no fucking interest in going over this lecture again. Father’s office was just like him, no fucking personality, too tight, too clean. “It’s _my_ money,” he repeated.

“And anyone investigating your many murders would follow it to me. Look at me. You’re not paying attention.”

Ramsay took a deep breath and ground his teeth. “ _Yes_?”

“This job requires some care, Ramsay.”

Ramsay pushed the green leather chair onto its back legs and rocked impatiently. “Uh huh.”

“Euron Greyjoy wants proof.”

“Proof? Now?! That job was _weeks_ ago.”

“Can you do it or not? Here’s his offer.” Roose slid his son a piece of folded paper.

“Pretty fucking good.” Ramsay lifted his feet off the ground and tried balancing as long as he could before stomping a boot down and slowly lifting it up again.

“Yes,” Roose remarked dryly. “He enjoys making ostentatious displays of wealth and calls it ‘generosity’.”

“Generosity is just another form of control,” Ramsay replied with a sharp smile.

“Euron’s theatrics attract far too much attention; from the government especially. It’s best to blend in, remain nameless, faceless-”

“I know. I know. I’ve heard this all a hundred times before.”

“And still you’ve learned nothing, so let’s try one hundred and one. **Stop** hovering on that chair like an ape.”

The chair fell back onto all four legs.

“You don’t have to earn money this way.”

“Why are we always having the same fucking conversations over and over and over?”

“Sit in on one meeting. If you can stop yourself from jumping in and negotiating a better deal than all my highly paid staff with all their pretty degrees ever could, I’ll never bother you with the idea again."

Ramsay stood. “Proof it was Theon, got it.”

“Ramsay, do not meet with Euron. Are you listening? Bring me the proof and I will handle the transaction.”

“Right,” Ramsay stopped to scoff. “Then Euron suddenly drops his price, I bet.”

 _“What?”_ Roose snapped in a whisper.

“That’s what you would tell me, anyhow.” Ramsay gifted Roose placid smile and fished a Hershey kiss from his pocket. “Give me a few months to find and exhume the body.”

“Time to let the flesh decay you mean?”

Ramsay frowned.

“You can speed up the process with moisture, heat and UV light-”

“Why would-”

“To make up for lost time.”

Ramsay threw his hand up then thrust it down grinding his teeth instead of trying to finish the lie. “I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING!”

“Take a toe, if you plan on keeping him. If that is the case, and you’re getting soft and weak at such a young age, you should keep the foot elevated-”

Ramsay flew out and slammed the door before he could finish, which was a genuine shame. Roose had spent good money on a new Kingwood door in the hope that it would be too heavy to smash into the doorframe. He would have loved to see Ramsay’s face when his dramatic outburst was thwarted and he was forced to decide between struggling with the door or fleeing defeated.

Roose sighed. He was so caught up in the joke, he’d forgotten to tell Ramsay _why_ he shouldn’t meet with Euron. “I’ll just call him a day or two beforehand,” he muttered to himself. Otherwise, Ramsay could well be counted on to forget, as he very often did.

 

 

_Thirty Hours Ago - an unpleasant conversation_

 

Ramsay was somewhat annoyed by the lingering taste of onion and garlic. He picked a piece of broccoli from his molars and skimmed jobs on the freelance services board. _A senator’s drunk billionaire widow?_ That sounded too good to be true. The posting claimed to be from someone very rich and very close to her.

A direct message popped up at the bottom right corner of his laptop screen.

 

 **Cr0wsI** : Hello, Ramsey. Do you have my gift yet?

 

“Pfft. What a stupid username.”

 

 **xXGeiningOnYouXx: *** Ramsay.* It’s in a jar with a fucking bow on it.

 **Cr0wsI:** Send it along to Mr. Bolton then. He’s growing frustrated with you.

 **Cr0wsI:** Are you afraid to make him angry?

 

 _What the fuck?_ Ramsay tilted his head and stared at the screen a moment.

 **xXGeiningOnYouXx:** I’ll deliver it personally.

 **Cr0wsI:** Mr. Bolton insists that I deal with him directly. Why is that, Ramsey?

 

“Asshole.”

 

 **Cr0wsI:** Are you incompetent? Should I be worried?

 **xXGeiningOnYouXx:** Fucking seriously? I think you know exactly how completely competent I fucking am or you would have had one of your silent paladins or dumbass brothers do the work for free. Do you want your trophy or not?

 **Cr0wsI:** Paladin? Ramsey, did you open your thesaurus just for me?

 **xXGeiningOnYouXx:** *RamsAy* Do you make a habit of antagonizing hitmen?

 **Cr0wsI:** Is that what you are? I didn’t think hitmen had pimps.

 **xXGeiningOnYouXx:** WTF are you fucking talking about?

 **Cr0wsI:** Mr. Bolton… right? He takes your money after you risk your life, night after night.

 **Cr0wsI:** Now that I think of it, a prostitute only rents the use of their talents, you’re whoring out your life itself - the ability to keep breathing.

 **Cr0wsI:** If you did actually show up at my office to take the money you earned, what would your pimp do to you?

 **xXGeiningOnYouXx:** He’s my FATHER

 **Cr0wsI:** Wow.

 **xXGeiningOnYouXx:** NOT my ANYTHING ELSE

 **Cr0wsI:** That’s fucked up, Ramsey.

 **xXGeiningOnYouXx:** Fuck you.

 **Cr0wsI:** Even for me.

 **Cr0wsI:** What did your father learn from Walder Frey?

 **xXGeiningOnYouXx:** Are we meeting or not?

 **Cr0wsI:** Come at 3 am. You have the address?

 **xXGeiningOnYouXx:** Yes.

 **Cr0wsI:** Then we have an appointment. ;p

 

“There’s no E you talking strand of Hepatitis,” Ramsay fumed under his breath. He heard the subtle pop of the refrigerator door open and the gentle blow of its cold fan. **“What are you doing?”**

 

Ramsay closed his laptop and got up from his desk.

 

_Three Hours Ago: mistakes were made_

 

The Feisl Corporation was the Euron’s tongue-in-cheek cover story. A gawdy high rise with Euron’s name and symbol plastered all over it, just like the cult leader he was. Most people vaguely recognized the name but what the hell does Feisl do? Something with chemicals, something with pharmaceuticals, and a lot to do with crime; white collar and otherwise.

 

As he pulled into the parking garage, Father called _again_ so Ramsay turned his phone off _again_ and left it in his car. No one was taking his fucking money for the work that HE fucking did.

He was stopped, let in, patted down, searched for weapons and escorted up to the top floor by two silent, hobbling drones with thousand-mile stares. The only sound in the building was the giggling chatter of inebriated models in the lobby of Euron’s office. Seemed like he was having a swell fucking party.

In short, Euron had everything Ramsay so clearly deserved. _He doesn’t have Father standing in the way._

 

At last, he arrived in Euron’s vast office, with nothing but Theon’s big toe in a small jar on hand. Ramsay sat and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And fucking waited some fucking more.

With a beleaguered sigh, Ramsay sat up and  grabbed some candy from a crystal bowl sitting on Euron’s weathered wood desk. He popped some in his mouth and stood to pace in front of the black windows towering  above him. The ports just barely availed themselves from this height. The shimmering lights along the reaching rectangles shivered in the water below.

“Ramsay!”

He spun and smiled right back at Euron who came in shirtless, patting himself dry with a towel. “Sorry, I got carried away, just thinking about having a piece of Theon.”

Ramsay carefully folded his hands over the jar’s lid.

“I’m so glad you have something for me. Do you always keep trophies?” Something about Ramsay made him stop laughing. “Sit down. I’ll have my men bring your money. You’re practically family.” Euron gestured to the chair with a charming smile of a gracious host. And pulled a phone from his pocket.

“Don’t you want to see it first?”

Euron glanced up. “What a professional.” With a grin, Euron extended his long white hand.

Ramsay grinned and held out the jar in return. “Like family?”

“Most often, only Greyjoys kill other Greyjoys.” Euron went to take the jar but Ramsay grabbed his wrist instead, smashed the jar on the desk corner, and plunged the shard just below his shoulder and above his ribs so that the bloody glass protruded from Euron’s armpit. “Ah-” Euron half-coughed half-gasped. “That’s a surprise.”

Ramsay yanked at the jar base but it was stuck in rigid muscle and rubbery tendons.

“Don’t- you can’t. You kill two Krakens and die while the last one watches. I saw it.”

Ramsay pulled the jar out at last. Blood gushed out in spurts from the wound.

“But… you won’t get…” Euron stumbled back and collapsed. “... your money.”

Ramsay left Euron to soak in his cooling pool of blood. He should have made it last longer, it was too quick a death, but he had to flee and he was feeling nauseous.

 

_Now_

 

Ramsay received the same vision, but from his own perspective. A much older Reek looked down on him in a hospital room with teary eyes. He touched Ramsay’s face and the room went white.

Then his face changed back. The white room became Ramsay’s penthouse.

Ramsay smelled like shit.

He sat up and grabbed his pounding head. “Reek?”

“You feel better?” Reek lunged forward and hugged him. “It’s ok. You’ll be ok. I’m sorry. You should have told me, though, that it was Euron! I’m sorry about… but I had to go! I ran and got the tablets and came back.”

“Stop. Stop. Who told you about Euron?”

“No, I…” Reek pulled back and held Ramsay’s face. “I lived with him long enough to recognize Nightshade poisoning. You should have told me! I got you charcoal from the gas station a few blocks away but if I wasn’t fast enough, or if you got here any later… what was I supposed to do?!”

Ramsay had to lay back down again. The tile was nice and cold on his sweaty back. “ _ **Reek**_ , do you think that’s the kind of attitude I want to hear from you?”

“No, but-”

“I feel like we’ve gone over this a hundred times and you still haven’t learned anything. Let’s try one hundred and one.”

“I’m sorry,” Reek said softly and crawled up closer to Ramsay. He looked down with tears in his eyes. “I was scared. I guess I didn’t want to live without you.”

“Not yet.” Ramsay smiled and touched Reek’s face. “Not for a very long time. I’ll forgive you this once since you did me a favor, and I hear you never do those for anyone."

Reek smiled in a bashful, playful way that Ramsay was defenseless against. “Thank you.”

Sirens screamed from Ramsay’s phone again. This time he snatched it and answered. “Yes? Hello? What?”

“I received a call from your tower about a mess?” Roose said tersely. “Just what the hell is going on with you? That tiny whore you keep clicking around the lobby called me saying you might be dead. Is this your idea of a joke, Ramsay?”

Ramsay stared at Reek then stroked his shaken face. “You know what? I decided to change careers.”

The phone was silent for a moment. “Is that so?”

“Yes. These hours are too long and crazy. I’m... getting messy. I’ll try sitting in on that meeting with whatever company you’re trying to acquire."

“Oh.” Roose was silent for awhile longer. “Very good, Ramsay. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m very happy that you would try this for me.”

“Of course.” He kissed Reek’s forehead and smiled looking into his big aqua eyes. “Anything for you.”


End file.
